Winter Solstice
by ChestnutBrumby
Summary: "Bucky, it's not about learning who you were. It's about learning who you are, now, and trying to be true to that." Steve finally catches up to a traumatized Bucky and nobody is more surprised than the two of them when they don't wind up fighting. Non-romantic pairing but can be read that way, if one prefers. Rated T for some nakedness.
1. Frozen

**A/N| Bucky's stuck in my head and I don't know what to do with him up there. Normal people get songs stuck in their head. What do I get? Movies. **  
**This isn't intended as a romantic Steve/Bucky fic but fans of the pairing can probably read it that way if they prefer. (I see them as a bromance, but it's not a stretch to see how people make the romantic leap).  
Be warned Bucky is somewhat traumatized through the majority of this chapter. Hey, he can't be badass all the time.  
**

* * *

"Thanks for the info, Tony."

"Sure you don't need a hand? I could put on the suit, be there before sunup."

"He'll ghost again if I wait. Besides, I need to do this alone."

"Alone, just you and Sam?"

"You know what I mean." Steve grumbled. "The team has bigger problems than the ghosts from my past. Let me know how Bruce's mission goes, okay?"

"Romanov's got her eye on him, so he won't dare step heavy. Peace out, Cap."

Steve Rogers tapped the com link and turned to look at Sam, watchfully scanning the dark horizon with his goggles for night vision. He felt a wave of affection for the friend who had stood by him all these months. Dear loyal Sam, who could never stop himself from standing up for the underdog, who always knew the right way to do things, who he could always rely on.  
And yet... Sam wasn't Bucky. He didn't fill the empty space in Steve's heart that had settled in permanently after Bucky fell from the train.

That was the problem. Steve had been good about not living in the past... until Bucky came back. Except he wasn't _his_ Bucky, not anymore.

"Wheels up, SW. Tony found us a sighting - there's been a fight in the CBD, reports of a man with a metal arm."

"Who's he fighting?"

"Nobody's sure."

"I'm on it. Recon first, or engage?"

"I won't be far behind you - stay out of reach until I get there. But don't loose him."

"See you there, Captain."

Sam had his wings on - willingly repaired by Tony, ever eager to get his hands on new tech. Naturally Tony had been all for adding in strobe lighting, flares, a Jarvis com-link and heat-seeking missiles, but Sam convinced him to stick with the more traditional model. Now the impressive wings flicked open and Sam leaped effortlessly to the rail of the bridge and jumped into the night. Steve opted for his traditional form of terrain-based transportation - a bike.

It was late enough that there weren't many lines outside the nightclubs, so the screams were easy to track even if Sam hadn't been showing him the path overhead. Steve nearly lost his grip on the handlebars when he saw Bucky standing in the middle of a street, the neon lights reflecting bright colours down his metal arm. He was lashing out at - something. Even Steve, with his better than twenty-twenty vision, was having a hard him making it out. As best he could tell, it seemed to be a whirlwind, around the same height as a man, whipping around Bucky in a blur as the Winter Soldier lashed out in frustration with his metal arm.

He was bleeding. As Steve gunned the bike, he saw a flash of steel not connected to his best friend and heard flesh rip. A knife - the whirlwind was attacking Bucky, cutting him open one slice at a time. A gash under Bucky's eye gave the warped impression he was weeping blood... except Bucky didn't cry.

"Buck!" Steve ditched the bike, sprang to get his old friend's back. He was moving at half-speed, the asphalt speckled with his blood. There was a flash of recognition and something that may have been a cross between fury and relief - then they were fighting together, trying to corner the endlessly moving blur of motion between them.

"Sam!"

"On it!"

The Falcon swooped in, providing a trio of targets to force the whirlwind to give in. For the briefest second Steve thought he caught a glimpse of a scowling human face in the shifting fury, then Bucky was knocked down, staying down, the blur vanishing.

"Buck!" Steve dived into the ground so hard if he'd been normal he would have torn open his knees and palms. He ducked the half-hearted punch aimed at his face, looking into Bucky's weary eyes, and wondered if he'd ever be able to get through to him without Bucky lashing out at him.

Some of the knife wounds were only superficial - but there were three that were more serious, and Steve applied pressure to them until Sam appeared with the first aid-kit, then stood watchfully over the two of them with his wings extended protectively, occasionally warning the small crowd to stay back.

"You found me." It was the voice of the Winter Soldier, not Bucky, and in decidedly an unfriendly tone. But Steve was so relieved to hear him speak instead of pass out, he didn't care. "Don't move, Buck. I got you."

"I'd kill you if our places were reversed." The words were slurred. Steve didn't flinch.

"You wouldn't. You didn't. You're still my friend, Bucky Barnes, and something in you remembers it or I'd have drowned that day."

Bucky's eyes slid closed. He could heal fast, but not all at once. He forced his body to stay conscious. It was hard to believe that after months of avoiding Captain America, here he was now, fully suited up and trying to save his life.

He remembered the day on the helicarrier.

_I'm not fighting you. You're my friend." The stubborn insistence of Rogers' voice. The way he'd launched himself at him, taken him down. "You're my mission!" He'd yelled at Rogers, furious, trying to convince himself. _

_"Then finish it. Because I'm with you... til the end of the line." _

_The Winter Soldier froze, fist raised. The words didn't click - they triggered no latent memory from the past. But he knew inherently that they _should_. The words meant something important to him. He just couldn't remember what, and the pain of trying to remember locked his muscles in place. _

_The words matched the honesty in Steve Rogers' face. _

The flashback triggered an enormous surge of painful pressure through Bucky's mind, a thousand migraines wielding drums and hammers inside his skull. He'd first felt that... that he recalled... that day on the helicarrier, when he'd faced Steve on the bridge. He could only assume it was either a side effect of Hydra's brainwashing or some sort of block they'd deliberately introduced, to prevent him accessing any subconscious memories of his past life. He groaned, the pain worse than any of his knife wounds. The sound tore at Steve's heart.

"Should'a left me under that beam."

"Out of the question." Steve pressure-bandaged one of the worst stab wounds, on Bucky's flesh arm.

"Don't... understand. I _can't_ be fixed."

"You'd be surprised. I'm going to get you to some friends who can help."

"The man.. you knew... is... dead." Speaking was beyond painful now. Being this close to Steve, hearing his voice, familiar-but-not, was triggering the pain reflex like nothing before. "Died falling off... train. I'm not him... anymore..."

Steve stopped tending to his wounds long enough to peer down into the eyes of the Winter Soldier. They were still the same - dark blue, far darker than Steve's own - but they were so very, very different too. Colder. Unforgiving. Filled with so much pain it hurt Steve to look into them.

"My Bucky is still in you." Steve insisted. Stubborn, _oh_ so stubborn. _He always had been stubborn, _thought Bucky weakly. He had lost too much blood. He couldn't fight the exhaustion anymore. He tried to fight Steve instead, his metal fist clenching, taking another swing, but he wasn't really surprised with Rogers caught his hand. It was tantamount to how much blood he'd lost that his opponent - friend - enemy - mission - pushed his arm back down with no visible effort. Trying to strike Steve brought on a fresh wave of pain and he couldn't handle it anymore - he couldn't fight him. Couldn't be close to him... couldn't stay away from him, he'd tried that option and here that was now. What else could he do?

"I'll prove it to you. You'll be okay. I'll look after you, Buck."

The dark blue eyes closed. Sam paced restlessly a tight circuit around them. "Help's on the way." Steve glanced at their spectators, then pulled Bucky's metal arm over his shoulders and lifted his friend, cradling him like something precious.

"We'll meet them on the way. Let's get him out of here - lead the way, Sam."

* * *

Maria organized treatment the way she always did - swiftly and efficiently, using the best of Stark's medical team, many of whom had been recruited from SHIELD after their collapse. (Most had been in on Nick Fury's 'death'). Bucky was unconscious through the operation to repair his collapsed lung, and once he was stable, still unwoken, Steve insisted on taking him from the small hospital to the Avengers Tower, where there was no way that press, public or enemies could breach the defense system to get to them.

Steve refused to leave Bucky's bed in the days following his recovery. Maria had warned there seemed to be significant activity going on inside Bucky's mind according to the next-gen scans that had been run on him. "It's almost like a form of electricity - some sort of organic static that's playing havoc inside his head. How he tolerates it when he's awake I don't know - he must be in constant pain for however long it lasts."

Jane, who could forgive anyone, was the one to bring him meals. She and Thor had been off on one of their round-the-world trips (Travel courtesy of Mjölnir airways) but had returned so they could help support Steve once they heard about Bucky. She even helped changed Bucky's dressings, while Steve helped her and tried to tune out both her sympathetic chatter and the watchful gaze of Thor, who would hardly allow his fiance anywhere near an assassin unsupervised. Tony and Pepper dropped by to offer company, but Steve was lost in thoughts of the past, BuckyBuckyBucky rattling around his mind in an endless loop, and they eventually left when they ran out of ways to coax Steve into talking to them.

It was two in the morning, with everything quiet and the city lights dimmed far below them, when Bucky woke up. He didn't speak, but Steve had woken at the purposeful sound of motion and found him sitting up, the dark blue eyes open for the first time in three days.

"Hey." Steve's voice was just above a whisper, although the room was soundproof and the other Avengers didn't even sleep on the same floor as the medical wing. "How are you feeling?"

Bucky's gaze met his, and Steve flinched. The pain had returned full-force, the same expression from the helicarier, only amplified. Steve felt as if it were inside his own mind, wondered if it hurt Bucky to look at him the way it did to see his old friend in this much pain.

"You're in the Avengers tower, our home base. No S.H.I.E.L.D., no Hydra, just us. You've been out for three days. You're healing, and the stitches all came out yesterday. Medics had to repair your lung, so it's probably still tender."

Still nothing from Bucky, though he stared at Steve with the same desperate pain radiating from him. Steve couldn't bear to see him like this. Without thinking he reached out and rested his hand on Bucky's forehead, just the way he would have back in the old days if he wasn't feeling well. Bucky blinked, but he didn't lash out as Steve half expected. He was burning up. There was a dried smear of blood underneath the cut on his face. Steve hadn't noticed how bloodied and dirty his friend was. "We need to get you cleaned up now you're awake. Can you get up?"

Finally, a tiny response. Bucky nodded, just once. He pushed the covers on the bed aside, then blinked as if he'd forgotten the next step. Steve held out his hand, still expecting a black eye for thanks, but to his amazement Bucky accepted his help and allowed Steve to support him as he stood. The hope began to build inside him. Maybe his Bucky was really in there, did still need him in some tiny way. Bucky swayed, but stayed on his feet. Steve cautiously put an arm behind his shoulders, taking some of Bucky's weight. The metal arm was cold to contact, in contrast to the rest of Bucky's skin which was burning up. "Come on, this way." He tried not to notice the way Bucky flinched at the sound of his voice.

The doctors had cut Bucky out of the top of his uniform when they patched him up, leaving him in a button-up hospital gown top that Steve removed without resistance when Bucky showed no signs of doing so himself, just slumped against the shower doorframe looking more lost than anyone had a right to. Steve almost wished for the aggressive assassin to rear his head again. Fighting and reasoning, he could handle, but he didn't know what to do with this subdued shadow of his old friend. He didn't blush removing Bucky's pants or pushing him gently into a hot shower - they had been friends a long time and had seen the other without clothes before now. But still, Steve wasn't prepared to see what Bucky had been through since then. It wasn't just the still-fresh knife injuries that made him stare. Bucky's body was littered with the scars of other people's wars, mapped out mostly on his chest and arm with a few extending down to his legs. As the first torrent of water hit him and washed off a layer of grime and blood, Steve grabbed a washcloth and stripped down to his boxers to scrub the most stubborn stains from his friend's skin. He was careful around the new injuries, dabbing the dried blood carefully away, sometimes with only his fingertips. Bucky was in enough pain.

He waited for the rage to hit, for him to get hurtled through the tiled wall, but it never happened. Bucky just stood there, head bowed, broken. Even when Steve tilted his chin up to the light so he could wash his face, there was no response.

Once he was clean, Steve turned the water off and guided Bucky to stand dripping on a bathmat while Steve dried him off. Once Bucky had a towel around his waist, Steve took a second and sat him down on the wide edge of the bath to dry his oddly long hair, still unfamiliar when the Bucky of his memory had always kept it close-cropped. He tried to be careful, but it was hopelessly tangled. Steve finally draped the second towel around Bucky's neck and found a brush to deal with the knots, and still as he brushed there was no fighting response, though it took an age to work through each snarl. Steve did so gently, pulling the worst tangles apart with his fingers before brushing the rest through. Bucky barely blinked. Steve had to leave him to find clean clothes - he got boxers, a t-shirt and shorts of his own - and Bucky was in the same place when he returned, hair now falling in soft waves around his face. Steve dressed him and then took him out of the hospital wing, up two floors and into a sparse but spacious spare room, sitting him on the bed. Bucky looked around, made a conscious move to press his metal hand against his forehead with a grimace, then slumped back into the pillows, though his eyes stayed open. Lost. Pleading. Steve reached out and took the closer hand - it was the metal one - and squeezed Bucky's fingers tightly.

"Whatever you're going through, you don't have to go through it alone. I should have come looking for you after the train, and I'm sorry. This time, I'm here for you, Buck - to stay."


	2. Back to Back

Steve wasn't sure where everybody was. Thor and Jane spent the least amount of time 'at home' in the Avengers tower, the astrophysicist frequently taking Thor on tours of the planet to show off some distant corner of the world. Natasha and Clint were too ingrained in their habits, though no longer agents of S.H.E.I.L.D., they often undertook missions that were frequently, conveniently, forgotten to be run by Steve. He didn't mind overmuch - if any two people could take care of themselves, it was Hawkeye and Black Widow. He did try to keep tabs on them though, since everyone knew Natasha's morals were questionable at best and she could sweet-talk Clint into anything. Bruce was on an investigatory mission somewhere in D.C - finally confident enough to venture out with Thor or Tony and his Hulk-buster standby. Tony himself was probably somewhere around and by extension so was Pepper, but the former frequently immersed himself in research for days at a time and only ate because Pepper brought him meals and forced him to stop working long enough to do so.

Steve knew where Bucky was though - in the massive workout room, half giant gym, half full-scale computer simulations training room, curtsey of Charles Xavier's recent collaboration with Tony. Bucky spend a great deal of time there. Restless when at rest, the Winter Soldier fought nightmares by pushing his body to the brink of exhaustion, and that took time and often some creativity.  
He'd been doing... Steve hesitated to say 'well'. Better, perhaps. He still struggling with the patchy memories that were occasionally returning to him, and every so often be lapsed into either a near-catatonic state or a feral rage. The last time he'd lost his temper it happened to be while Jane was in the same room and Thor had promptly stepped in. Steve was horrified to hear that Bucky had launched an attack on Thor but the Thunder God waved off his apologies, saying that he hadn't had a battle that memorable since he fought the Hulk in the helicarrier. They owed Tony a new bullet-proof window and a balcony railing, though.

Steve leaned beside the gym's door to watch a simulation run - an obstacle course complete with lava pits, exploding RPGs whistling through the air, and multiple levels that Bucky was hurling himself across, using his arm to his advantage and adapting in the hair-trigger way he had to the unexpected environment. He leaped across a ten-foot jump with ease, twisted to avoid an explosion, threw up his arm to shield himself from the debris, then sprinted around a freshly-formed canyon ripping the ground in two. There was a time that Steve marveled at the technology of the training room and the ultra-realistic worlds it could build. Tonight, he had eyes only for Bucky.

He wasn't the same man. That much was clear. Even after two months, he still only recalled fragments of his past life - and they were so hopelessly tangled in with his Hydra missions and the horrors he'd seen - and committed - he couldn't keep them straight. Steve had convinced him to take the room next to his, so when he woke up screaming and swinging, Steve could talk him around. Once he calmed his old friend - usually they lost a lamp or on a rough night a chest of drawers or the bedframe - Steve would sit in the armchair by the bed (that had only needed replacing the once after a particularly well-aimed punch sent it through the wall) and tell Bucky stories from before and sometimes during the war. Bucky had a hard time getting back to sleep, and one night he confessed to Steve the reason he resisted it so much.

_"I always... I think..." Bucky groaned and closed his eyes, head falling back on the bare mattress - his pillow had been hurled across the room. Steve hovered by the bed, close enough to touch Bucky's shoulder, but giving him the space. _

_"You can tell me, Buck." There was a long silence, but if there was anybody in the world who could be trusted, it was Steve. _

_"That..." Bucky's eyes opened, silver in the shadows. His voice was very low, and even Steve strained to hear him. "That life here... Hydra will wake me up and it'll be a dream. I'm afraid to close my eyes and go to sleep. I'll open them and I'll be missing more years of my life and all of you will be gone and I'll be..." He didn't finish, and Steve pressed his lips together to stop from voicing the cry his heart gave._

It was evident in the physical side of him, too. It wasn't just the red-starred arm that marked him as different, either. The Bucky he'd known had strode through life confidently, unafraid and brash, crashing willfully about because he was certain that whatever showed resistance, he could handle. Now, he carried himself with the light step of a predator, all deadly muscle ready to lash out. He was still unafraid, but instead of being due to carelessness it was due to prowess. Steve wondered sometimes if the physical unfamiliarity was Bucky's long hair, which he never seemed to get around to trimming. Nobody in the army had long hair, except Peggy of course.  
Before the serum Bucky had always been the bigger one, not only tall but sturdy. Now he was even tougher, all muscle without a scrap of waste - much like himself, Steve thought with a mental sigh. Bucky looked bigger than before, in part perhaps because the metal arm was slightly larger than his right one, adding to the illusion of size. And yet there behind the watchful eyes was the man he'd once known, there in the angles and planes of his face that could turn furious at a moment's notice.

It was hard on Steve, trying to pick the pieces of his friend out within the weapon that was the Winter Soldier. But he was trying.

They were both trying.

Finally finished with the course, Bucky closed the simulation down and dived into the pool. He powered through the water, completing three laps before lifting his head for air. The designers of his arm had made it waterproof - _no point in creating a super-assassin who could be felled by a rainstorm_, Steve mused.

Laps completed, Bucky lingered in the water. He couldn't float naturally due to the weight of the metal arm, and he used slight movement of his flesh limb to stay at the surface. Then he hauled himself from the water and walked towards the shower room without bothering with a towel.

"Steve." He said in a low voice - neither welcoming or hostile, just resigned. Steve wasn't really surprised that he'd been spotted. Bucky had probably known he was there from the start. What did surprise him was the use of his name - since he'd reluctantly moved in the to the Avengers tower, Bucky hadn't addressed him by name. This was the first.

"Not bad." He complimented his old friend, falling in beside him. Bucky used to have to slow his stride for the smaller Steve to keep up easily. That was another thing that had changed. "Tony and Jarvis think you're ready to start on missions. Get back into the world."

"World doesn't need anyone like me." Bucky muttered, looking straight ahead. "They have all of you."

"World always needs more heroes, Buck."

There was a soft _whump_ followed by a sharper crack as Bucky caught Steve by the shoulder and smacked him into tiled wall, several of the off-white squares fracturing at the impact. One rattled to the ground at their feet.

"I. Am. Not. A. Hero." He ground out, eyes fierce and unrelenting, the glare of a wild animal - but Steve didn't reach, just reached out an arm and placed a calming hand on Bucky's shoulder, feeling heat and tension radiating out from him despite his cooling swim.

"I know you better than that." He waited, shoulderblades shoved uncomfortably into the wall and several tile splinters piercing through his shirt and skin, while Bucky tempered his anger. Eventually the pressure dimmed, them the Winter Soldier let him go, backed up several steps, anger fading to crushing disappointment. He opened his mouth, said nothing, backed further away and then fled into the closest shower with a haunted look.

Steve didn't leave. He leaned where he was until Bucky emerged from the cubicle, refusing to meet his eye. He stopped in front of him, running a frustrated hand (non-metal) through his tangled hair. "Why do you keep doing this? You should have thrown me out weeks ago. I'm not your hero, Steve. I'm one of the monsters." His metal fist clenched as he spoke and he looked down at the metal limb, squeezing his eyes closed like a child afraid of the dark.

"You should really spend more time with Bruce, you two'd find heaps to talk about." Bucky glared at him, the warning still clear, and Steve stopped kidding around. "Buck, do I have to say this for you to understand? I'll never give up on you."

Bucky gave him a very long look, the prior anger in his face dulling to one of the saddest expressions Steve had ever seen from anyone. "You're more than I deserve, Steve." He twisted his metal arm up over his head, rotating it around fully to click it back into place, the way some people rolled their shoulder joint.

It still killed The Captain to see Bucky so miserable. He'd fought countless battles, lived through (most of) a war, went weekly to visit Peggy who still hopelessly held a peice of his heart, and he'd brought down Hydra, but this was more painful than all of those.

Steve once more placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder - deliberately letting his fingers lie on the joint between flesh and metal, unflinching from the angry red scar that formed the line between the two. Bucky trembled slightly under the touch, his eyes widening as his trained instinct to lash out at anybody who dared came this close clashed with his partial memories of a best friend from another life. He got so far as the fingers of his metal hand closing into a fist, but Steve didn't falter. He firmly curled his fingers against flesh and metal, feeling shocked at the tension and stiffness he could feel - what did it take out of his old friend, to keep this metal arm functioning?

Bucky went to pull back, turning his head away, swallowing painfully. Steve didn't comment when Bucky turned his back on him, aware of each deep breath that he took, shoulder rising and falling. Steve gently traced the line of the metal arm before he took a step, then provided a little pressure along one of the tense upper back muscles. Bucky made a tiny noise of protest in the back of this throat, but he also didn't pull away, so Steve carefully massaged some of the tension out of Bucky's back, then around his shoulder, which brought a tiny grunt from Bucky as he stretched out the metal arm, fingers uncurling. Steve finally moved up to his neck muscles, feeling that his friend had at last, relaxed a little. When he lowered his hands Bucky finally turned to face him again, rubbing his face wearily with his hand (non-metal).

"I don't know how... you always know." He murmured, then his eyes widened, alarm flickering over his face. "You're bleeding!"

"Huh? Oh." Steve twisted his head to peer over his shoulder. A bloodstain had soaked through his shirt - one of the tile pieces had done a little more damage than he originally expected it to. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it!" Maybe Bucky wasn't as relaxed as Steve thought, since a hand (metal) gripped him by the collarbone and spun him around. Steve drew in a sharp breath, ready to defend, but Bucky seemed back in control despite his angry words. Muttering what Steve assumed was a Russian swear word, Bucky pulled aside Steve's collar to check the damage.

"Up." He ordered gruffly, nudging Steve's elbow. Steve meekly lifted both arms and Bucky stripped his bloody shirt up and off. Steve winced - it was worse than he thought, only six minor cuts dripping blood, but one more major flowing steadily.

"You see?" Bucky's voice was tight, barely contained fury. "_This_ is what I do. Hold still." He grasped at the first bit of tile and pulled it free.

"You're getting better, Buck. I know it."

"How can you say that?" Bucky held out the next tile shard he removed form Steve's back - a jagged, two-inch long piece drenched in blood. "Look at this!"

"It's not a big deal. Those'll heal up by tomorrow."

Bucky growled in frustration. Unable to remove the fourth piece with his normal hand, he tried the metal. It had a hell of a lot less sense of touch, but it was more precise.

"You want to know how I know?"

"Don't tell me or I'll probably punch these back into you." He grumbled, but the tone was so familiar it made Steve smile, head turned where Bucky couldn't see.

"You wouldn't be trying to patch me up, otherwise."

Hand (metal) extended for the last shard, Bucky froze. Steve was right. But curse him, he didn't _want_ Steve to be right. The more Steve, the more anyone trusted him... the worse it would be when he snapped, when something inevitably when wrong in his neural pathways. The hand shook as he picked out the last piece, drew back a silver hand speckled with his friend's blood.

"How much of this do I have to spill before you believe me? I'm _dangerous_."

Steve spun around to catch Bucky's wrist (non-metal), stopping him from storming out. Again, he watched the process - the muscles tense, the fingers twitch, ready to strike him... but he didn't. He _was_ better. Control came in small doses, and if somebody had to be Bucky's punching bag it would be him.

"I'd spill every drop for you, Bucky Barnes. Before you know it, it'll be out on the front lines, not because you're being haunted and I won't give up on you."

Bucky yanked his arm free forcibly, slapped the freed shards into Steve's hand, and stomped away. But it was hard not to retain the tiniest shred of hope, as small and fragile as a shred of tile piercing Steve's back.

* * *

**A/N| I actually had this finished yesterday. A very inconsiderate cyclone decided to flit on over us and knock the power out - rude, huh? **  
**So I had to continue after the amazing response and wonderful things people have said, so here you go - I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Please, if you do read it, leave a review and let me know? This isn't usually a direction my writing takes and I admit to being largely insecure about this fic. **


	3. Front Lines

"Hey, Buck."

The Winter Soldier opened his eyes, half expecting the grip of another nightmare to be on him - but instead morning sun streamed through the wall-to-wall window he despised. A rookie sniper could have hit him from three buildings away. Steve was framed in the doorway, taking up the whole damn thing of course.

"Yeah?" He rubbed his face with the back of his hand (non-metal) then covered a yawn. He'd only slept for four hours. He still spent as much time as possible in the waking world.

"Suit up. There's a lead on your attacker."

He was halfway out of bed before the words registered. "What? I'm not _coming_." He leaped out into the hallway to find Steve already halfway down it. "Yeah you are. Meet you in the operations room in three minutes."

Bucky wasn't used to the blend of old and new that made up his uniform. The lower half was the same, but the upper half had been lost and replaced with a tough leather far closer to black than blue. It covered his right arm, and left the left exposed to do it's best work. A weapons belt hung down close to his left shoulder - in easy reach of his non-metal grip - although it didn't actually have any weapons in it. He felt self-conscious hauling the unfamiliar uniform on. Even more so walking into ops wearing it, like he had a right to be there.

Steve, Sam, Thor and Jane were gathered around one of Tony's 3D table displays, the latter directing the technology with easy sweeps of her hand. Thor was in full battle regalia, impossible not to be just slightly intimidating, Steve was fully suited already and Sam had his wings at the ready. Jane was briefing, nodding when she spotted Bucky in the door.  
"This guy moves so fast he's mostly off the grid. Speed cameras catch him occasionally, but standard tech doesn't have a chance. He was last seen about three blocks away from the airport so he may be trying to leave the country. My best guess if that he knows HYDRA is looking for him in New York so he's splitting."

Sam cocked his head. "We still think HYDRA is behind releasing this dude in the first place? Whatsisname? Paco?"

Steve nodded - he'd noticed Bucky too, and waved him in. "Pietro. And it wouldn't be the first time." He shot a meaningful look at his old friend, tapping the image of a silvery-haired man on the display. Bucky scowled. "Yeah, that looks like the asshole who attacked me."

Jane frowned at him. "Language, Bucky." She admonished. The Winter Soldier rolled his eyes. "_Mudak_." He muttered rebelliously. Steve, who'd learnt enough Russian off Natasha to understand, laughed, the sound tugging a heartstring Bucky had been fairly sure was cut long ago. He kept his mind on the task at hand.

"Doesn't explain why you want me."

"Bruce is helping out some old allies in India and Tony's on assignment in Africa. Clint and Natasha are AWOL so we're a few men down."

"You'll be better off without me." Bucky insisted. Two could be stubborn.

Surprisingly, it was Sam who spoke up. Bucky had the distinct feeling Sam didn't like him overly. And he was a long way from trusting him.

"Bucky, you and Pietro have a lot in common if HYDRA did intend to use him as a weapon. If we can catch him, you'll be able to give us some valuable insights."

Bucky chewed on that for a minute. He had no idea where this sense of loyalty to this team had come from. The force of it was kind of surprising.

"If he stabs me again, I'm allowed to flatten him." He grumbled.

Steve smiled knowingly. 

* * *

"There!" Sam's voice rang in their earpieces. Sunlight flashed on silver wings as the Falcon swooped overhead, showing them the way. Steve and Bucky broke into a run, darting through pedestrians. Bucky felt a wave of amazement at how easy it was to fall into step beside Steve, keeping at his side despite the people, the swiftness of their target. They _matched_ one another, utterly effortless.

How many times had he done this before?

"Thor?" Steve lifted his chin. There was a crackle of lightning, then the Thunder God whipped overhead. Sam banked steeply, giving the floor, and Thor brought a whiplash arc of lightning between what appeared to be a blur and the next wave of bystanders, who hastily scattered.

The soldiers were close enough to see the figure slow- only for a few seconds, but enough to make out the mop of silvery, black-streaked hair, angry, narrowed eyes (darkly shadowed) and pale complexion. Thor soared up behind him but the moment he touched down, the whirlwind went back into motion.

"He's coming toward us!" Yelled Steve, grabbing his shield from his back. "Get-"

His next instructions were cut off when he was boldly body-slammed. Across the road, ricocheted off a passing truck bed in the far lane and landing with a groan on the sidewalk. His shield clattered to the ground where he had been standing.  
The instant anger that clutched a hold of Bucky was so unexpected. It was far from the rage he felt when pushed too far, lashing out at the nearest target... this was a colder, more calculated anger than those white-hot flare-ups.  
_How dare he hurt Steve_.

It would have been laughable if he had stopped to think - Bucky himself had hurt Steve, not only to the point of death during HYDRA's takedown but in several tussles as he wrestled with his demons since.  
But that didn't mean he was about to stand by and watch somebody else do it.

"Remember me?" Bucky kicked viciously at Steve's shield, sending it soaring through the air, having calculated where the speedster would be. There was a solid "_clang_" as the weapon hit home, and without even thinking as it sailed back towards him Bucky held out his metal arm to catch it.

Again, the silver-haired man became visible, stunned but still standing, shaking his head as if to clear it. A bleeding cut had opened down his temple. He caught sight of a glowering Bucky and he scowled right back. "_Yeah_. Remember this?" He grabbed a folding knife from his back pocket, flicked it open and threw it faster than Bucky could blink. It stuck sharply in his flesh shoulder.

They were interrupted when lightning surrounded them, providing a moment for Sam to swoop in and make a snatch at Pietro. For a second it seemed as if he had him by the arm - them the whirlwind twisted free and around behind Sam just in time to absorb the lightning bolt Thor aimed at him. Sam grunted in surprise and dropped to the ground, wings collapsing in on themselves and folding away with a mechanical-sounding sizzle. Thor winced. "Oops."

_Zoom_. Taking an opening, Pietro took off again. Bucky voiced several more swear words in Russian and went after him, ignoring that the man's knife blade still protruded from his shoulder. Steve came racing to intercept, leaping over car roofs so lightly his feet barely touched them. Bucky kept one eye on him, the other on their target.

"Hold it! We don't want to fight!"

"That'sashame." The words came so quickly even Bucky had trouble understanding them, and a moment later a handful of glinting silver darts were tossed right at Steve.

Bucky leaped.

He crashed down practically on top of Steve, hefting the shield still in his hand, using it and his metal arm to protect them. Darts rained down around them, and Bucky stared into a surprised blue eye at an uncomfortably short distance from his own before he hauled Steve up, checking he was okay and handing him back his shield silently. Focus back on the mission, his head turned, cursing even more colourfully when he realized Pietro had vanished.

"Thor? Did you see him?"

"Unfortunately not." Thor approached carrying Sam with one arm, looking abashed. "I fear I accidentally hit your Falcon friend instead of that dervish. We ought get him to medical attention."

Steve groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "This has not been our day. Okay, back to base to regroup."

He checked on Sam first, ascertaining he was out cold but with no obvious damage, before turning to Bucky and gesturing to the knife. Bucky nodded wordlessly. "Ready."  
In one fluid motion Steve grasped the hilt and pulled it out of Bucky's shoulder. The Winter Soldier reached to press over the wound but Steve already had a gauze patch in hand. Placing it over the wound, Bucky once again, found himself in step with Captain America. He tried to keep his gaze straight ahead, but there was something compelling about Steve's earnest gaze and Bucky eventually sighed and shot a glance at him. "Thanks, Buck." Steve said quietly, not looking away.

Tension built in his shoulders. He wished he had a punching bag within reach to work it out. Steve left it at that, didn't push.  
But that didn't change anything. Bucky wasn't sure what he expected, having made a split-second... more reaction, than decision - to protect Steve.  
He sure as hell hadn't expected it to feel _right_. But there, for the first time in his memory, Bucky Barnes knew what it was to choose, and to understand that he had, in fact, made the right choice. 

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**A/N| Okay, this chapter originally was just an intro to my next idea, but I know you guys are patiently waiting for more and the ending took a sort of 'finished feel' I wasn't expecting so I thought I'd tie it up here and make the next portion an all new chapter. which by the looks of things will just be pure fluff. **  
**Okay, I know what you're thinking - Bucky already chose for himself once before when he saved Steve from drowning in TWS. But the major difference between him then and him now was that I see him as being filled with self-doubt after saving Steve that first time - he walked away and he didn't look back, he didn't **_**realize**_**, at the time, that he'd made the right decision. This time he really couldn't escape that knowledge. **  
**Yep. So, please let me know your thoughts :) **

**P.S. - Yes, as a couple of people have asked me, I do take scene requests, so feel free to fire them at me. I won't take every single suggestion and I may modify those that I do take, but those that fit with the characters and this story may well weave right on in. **


	4. Trigger Memory

**A/N| Fluff alert. There's cookies and everything.**

* * *

Bucky emerged freshly showered after a workout session to find the main two floors used by the Avengers as their living quarters oddly quiet. While the team did tend to head out on missions quite often, it was rare not to find a significant other or a grounded team member floating around. It wasn't until Bucky's sharp ears picked up on singing and the clunk of pans did he head towards the kitchen. It was there he found Jane Foster singing an offkey tune to the music from her docked Ipod, building a small mountain of baking trays and bags of ingredients Bucky couldn't identify. He had never cooked in his memory, HYDRA having provided him with tasteless energy bars and drinks when on missions and an apparently nutritious but equally unappetizing stew when at base. One of the more pleasant parts of life he had to adjust to at the Avengers tower was the vast variety of food on offer - usually cooked by Pepper, Jane and surprisingly Thor, or Jarvis, which Bucky tried not to think about too much. Having a robot cook his meals was just... weird. Bucky could eat as much as Steve on an okay day and equal to Thor on a good day. Tony had decided that much like Steve's increased metabolism, Bucky's body underwent the same thing - not to mention the amount of energy his metal arm took to keep functioning.

"Jane." The name still sounded shaky on his lips and he hovered in the doorway like a lurker. Jane was probably the third person to accept him here - after Steve who had of course been the first, and Clint Barton who'd been the second - and he was cautiously fond of her. She had helped take care of him when he'd first arrived, wounded and prone to lapsing into catatonic states, and she was easy to be around. Jane Foster was gentle without being a pushover, understanding without being condescending, and smart enough to give him space when he needed it. Of course, the majority of the time he spent with her was also spent with a decidedly less welcoming Thor, which was why he was surprised to peer around the kitchen and not see the God of Thunder.

"Hey Bucky." Jane shot a quick smile at him, hefting a large bag of flour out of a low cupboard and plopping it on the counter. She was also one of the few people who were comfortable calling him by Steve's old nickname for him - most of the Avengers called him James. She caught his look and waved a hand. "Thor's out with Sam and Steve, who said to say goodbye, he didn't want to interrupt your workout." She explained, reaching out to turn the music down so she could talk to him easier. Bucky marked it as another difference between regular people and himself - he didn't have any trouble hearing Jane over the music.

"Oh." Conversation, even after all this time, didn't come easy to him. He was however, getting better about being in other people's company. It was sort of soothing, watching Jane bustle around the kitchen. Another good thing about Jane was that she never needed much of a prompt into chatter. "They're helping out with some old friend of Bruce's."

At least it wasn't Quicksilver. Bucky was still sore at the whirlwind-man. "So it's not the _mudak_ this time."  
Jane leveled a rolling pin at him. "I lived in Tromso for nearly a year. The amount of European languages I know would blow your mind, and I _happen to know what that particular word means."_

Oops.

"Well don't just stand there. There's a can of condensed milk in the fridge I need, and you can grab the sugar from that cupboard."

Automatically he moved to follow Jane's instructions. The sugar he knew because Steve had it in his morning coffee, a habit Bucky had taken to copying. Condensed milk threw him because there were five different varieties of milk in the massive sub-zero fridge and it took some digging to come up with the can that Jane had asked for. She took them off him, not even flinching at the touch of his metal hand. "Doesn't it bother you? Being alone with the hair-trigger assassin?"

Jane ignored the bitter tone of his voice. "If I don't burn these, they'll almost be worth the risk. Wait til you taste them." She pointed at a drawer. He hesitated, torn, until her exasperated voice kick-started his motor functions. "Bucky, stop brooding and lend me a hand. _Both_ of them. Um, there's baking paper in that one, oh, and I need the butter from that cutting board there, can you bring the whole thing - yep, thanks."

He gave in. No wonder this girl could handle a Thunder God. "What are you making?" Bucky was oddly fascinated by the array of utensils and ingredients. Knowing that Jane wasn't afraid of him brought an unfamiliar spike of emotion to his chest.

"Cookies, chop-chip. My mother's recipe, which, by the way, I have not attempted in around, oh, five years? Here, make yourself useful and set this up."

She pushed two whisk-shaped metal objects into his hands, nodding to one of the various contraptions of the kitchen that Bucky generally kept his distance from for fear he'd crush them in his metal grip. He inspected the large flat bottom section then spotted two groves in the second that he could clip the metal pieces into. It took two attempts to insert them correctly so they didn't just fall out again, but once he had that down he figured out how to clip the part he held into the main body without difficultly.

"Thanks. Hold this." Jane pushed an oversize stainless-steel bowl into his hands and Bucky was momentarily distracted by the similar silver tone of the bowl and his left hand. His fingers flexed too strongly, slightly denting the bowl before he got a hold of himself. Jane pretended not to notice.  
"So we need to partially melt the butter first - you need to change the power setting on the microwave, here." Jane pushed the correct button and Bucky found himself paying attention despite himself, going with the flow of Jane's cooking chatter. "Then enter the time, a minute in this case, because you want the butter really soft but not liquid. In your bowl we're going to mix a cup of sugar, grab that - and six tablespoons of condensed milk. Okay, that butter is done, add it and pour the bowl into the mixer."

The bowl clicked when he set it down and he discovered which button brought the whisks down to stir the mixture. Jane raised her voice to be heard over the electronic buzz.

"Okay, you chop these, each square should be in quarters, while I measure out the flour." Jane handed him a large block of chocolate and left him with a knife and cutting board. Bucky managed to cut five squares before succumbing to the temptation of putting one in his mouth. He had developed a sweet tooth for chocolate, despite Steve's teasing he'd never maintain his figure if he kept inhaling half-blocks in one sitting.

"Hey!" Jane caught him sneaking his second piece and hit him with a spatula. Bucky tensed, but Jane didn't seem to notice. "Save some for the cookies!"

_She really _doesn't_ fear me_, he realized with some wonder as she turned back to the mixer. He'd felt his old instincts flare up when she smacked him, but it hadn't been difficult to push them back, to remember that the petite woman in the apron was not his enemy - could, in fact, be counted as a friend by somebody on the outside looking in.

The Winter Solider didn't have friends... but Bucky Barnes just might.

"Ready?" She was too tiny to look over his shoulder and ducked her head around him to check on him. Bucky nodded, hoping she wouldn't notice he'd eaten four more pieces. He took a step back to watch Jane add the chocolate and turn the mixer back on, senses relaxing more he could place to his recent memory. It only needed a bit more mixing, then Jane showed Bucky how to roll the dough into balls and squish them down with a fork. Absently, she gave the mixer a push aside to give them some more space.

_Steve's Mom always mixed them by hand. No mixers back then. _

The pain reared up and smashed him in the face, making him stagger back as if something physical had hit him. Jane gave a wordless exclamation of surprise when he slumped to the floor, clutching his head. "Bucky! What is it?"

Bucky groaned. He knew the memory ought to be a fond one, but the pain its arrival had wrought was agonizing. He wondered if it would kill him.

"Talk to me Bucky! What's wrong?" Jane's small hands on his shoulders. He almost sent her flying. She had to have seen how he stopped himself, but she didn't even pull back. "Bucky? Don't let it win, Bucky, tell me what's happening, please."

He gasped, the words escaping with a rushed exhale as he fought back against the onslaught. "Steve's Mom. She's making us cookies like when we were little kids." He squeezed his eyes closed so the images in his head stopped overlapping those in the real word. That made it easier and harder - he could concentrate better, but it hurt even more. "But she's sick. She won't let Steve and I help, she keeps telling us to go outside, enjoy autumn while it lasts. But the cold is making her worse. She should be resting... she's stubborn, like Steve... oh... Steve!" He let out a strangled sound and Jane put an arm around him, holding him carefully. "What about Steve, Bucky?"

"He's worried about her. All the time. Steve is... is..." He faltered. Then to his intense relief the pain lessened, became smaller, manageable, and he realized he was crouched on the kitchen floor, smudges of flour dotting it and him.

"Bucky? Are you okay now?"

He took stock, flexed his fingers (metal and non-metal) and then slowly stood. "I think so." His voice croaked painfully. Jane fetched a glass of water and pushed it into his hands, and he drained it thankfully. Still stunned by the fact he'd remembered something, he sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Jane backed off a few steps - another of those times she knew he needed space.

"Steve." Bucky was having a hard time matching the scrawny Steve from his raw memory with the one he knew today. He'd head the stories of course, but they'd been just that... stories. With his memories missing, he had no connection to them. No validation.

"He was so small." He murmured, unthinking. "He was skinny, and he coughed a lot. He wasn't... his whole figure was different. His face. It's him, but it isn't. He was sadder. Defeated. There was this hollowness in his face, it's not there anymore."

Jane came to sit opposite him, but she didn't speak, just listened, let him deal. "I see it now. It's the way he looks at me. I've changed just as much as he had. We switched places." Bucky held up his metal arm, staring as if it were the first time he'd ever set eyes on it. "He looks at me and he tries to find what was there."

He stayed sitting there in the cookie-scented kitchen the whole time Jane finished baking, stunned. When she put a warm cookie in his hand (non-metal) he ate it, and it was every bit as delicious as she'd claimed, but he couldn't voice it. The memory rolled around his head, the way it had opened his eyes irreversible. It was only later - hours, maybe - when he heard Steve say his name and settle in a crouch at his side did he really begin to come back to the current world.

"I remembered your Mom." Bucky told Steve, watching blue eyes go wide with surprise, a hint of sadness. "And you. You were..." He trailed off, staring at Steve's face.

"Different. I know. I'm sorry, it must be a shock to you." He heard the real regret there in Steve's voice. He knew with utter certainly that if Steve could have moved into his head, shared the pain with him, he would. Maybe he already did.

"How?" Bucky looked imploringly at his old friend. "How did you learn to be who you were again?"  
Steve sighed heavily, ran his fingers through his hair, not realizing just how much he scruffed it up.

_He never much cared how he looked. _

"Bucky, it's not about learning who you _were_. It's about learning who you are, now, and trying to be true to that."

It clicked, making sense in a way few things did to Bucky anymore. Some of the tension seeped from his body, and Steve breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Bucky felt bad for him quite suddenly. "I'm sorry, Steve. You have enough to worry about and I-" He shook his head, frustrated. He didn't have the words. But it didn't matter, because Steve understood anyway.

"You, Bucky Barnes, are still my best friend. When I woke up, you were the person I missed most. When I was learning how to adapt to this time, I used to think how much easier it would be if you were around, I just... never dreamed you were so close. That I can be there for you while you're going through what I did - there could never be anything more important, Bucky."

He'd been conditioned, who knew who long ago, never to show emotion. Never to betray that sign of weakness. But though they never fell, the tears still welled up in his eyes anyway. There could be no more thoughts, now, of sneaking out in the night and going his own way. No more lying to himself. He had to sort himself out.

"Hey. How about some cookies?" Steve smiled, hope in his eyes. Bucky knew he couldn't let him down. He nodded, reaching up lightning-fast to wipe his eyes. Steve pretended not to notice. "Jane and Thor want to watch some movies. Let's go join them."

Bucky helped load up an enormous plate of cookies - Jane, anticipating the appetite of the Avengers men, had made a quadruple batch - and followed Steve into the rec room. He didn't know what, in his past life, he'd ever done to warrant the friendship of Steve Rogers. But now it was up to him to prove he was worthy of it. 

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**A/N2| Thanks again to all my reviewers, you guys rock! I have solid ideas for the next two chapters and a rougher plan in place for a few more after that, so we'll see where this takes us. **


	5. Trust

Bucky figured it was probably recalling a fragment of his past life that brought on the nightmare. He had them most nights, which was the reason Steve still routinely camped in the armchair by his bed, but this one was new.

He was running. Bucky was running - not the metal-armed soldier everybody knew him as these days, but the Bucky from his sole memory. Two whole, human arms. Clean-shaven, with short hair. Big, wide eyes.  
He was being chased by a man with a metal arm.  
First through a rusted construction site, the Winter Soldier navigating the fallen pipes and tight corners better than Bucky could, gaining on him. The surroundings blurred - trees, buildings - then a crowd of people. Bucky screamed for help, but nobody so much as turned to look at him. They were hemming him in, bumping his shoulders harshly as the crowd closed in, worked against him, as the man with the metal arm drew closer and closer.  
His breath came in gasps, sweat pouring down his face, and he knew it was only a matter of time.  
The Winter Soldier leaped forward, and grabbed him by his arm, yanking him viciously, with the sort of strength impossible to comprehend until it was used against you. Tighter and tighter the steel grip closed and Bucky struggled against him, struck, missed, tried to pull away.  
Then, his face twisted into a vicious mask, the Winter Soldier ripped Bucky's arm completely off.

Steve knew something was wrong - Bucky had bad dreams, but not like this. He didn't respond to his gentle attempts to wake him, his eyes finally snapping open on their own, without Steve's coaxing... Winter Soldier eyes. There was nothing familiar in the gaze and Steve had only that split second warning before Bucky, snarling in Russian, launched at him. Steve hit the deck, and Bucky tucked, rolled, and popped up behind him, moving faster than Steve, catching him in a one-armed headlock. Which wouldn't have been so bad if it was his human arm, but it was the metal one and Steve wheezed painfully as he tried to lever a hand under Bucky's iron grip. "Please... don't wanna-" He managed a backwards jab to Bucky's midriff and kicked off the wall, shoving them both backwards where he landed on top of Bucky, winding him for a few brief seconds. It was enough to get out of the headlock, but not enough time to dodge the punch that sent him across the room, airborne, to crash into the far wall, leaving a dent. Bucky remained in a crouch, lips pulled back to snarl at Steve like an animal.

It was terrifying, staring into Bucky's eyes and not being recognized. He was awake, but still caught up in his nightmares.

"Come on Bucky. You can come back to me. It'll be okay!" Steve's final plea ending on a higher note of desperation as the Winter Soldier sprang at him and they grappled, neither gaining the upper hand until Steve fended his old friend off with a right hook and stumbled him a few steps back.

"Steve! Are you okay?" Sam slammed on the door, alarm in his voice. "Don't come in!" Steve gasped back, dodging a punch and dancing back to safety. "Keep everyone out, we'll be fine!"

He knew he'd have a narrow window if Tony was awake too - the man could never resist interfering - and he thanked his lucky stars that Natasha was still away with Clint, because she definitely would have come charging in, knowing firsthand the damage Bucky could inflict. With Sam, he had a chance. Sam would give him time.

He just hoped he could snap Bucky out of it soon, as he came at him yet again, catching a nasty bruise on his cheekbone as he tried to deflect the flurry of punches without seriously injuring Bucky.  
Okay, so the defensive wasn't working. Time to try something new.  
Steve charged, feinted left and sprang right, hooking his ankle behind Bucky's to topple him. He pounced and crushed the metal arm under Bucky's own body, holding the thrashing soldier down with every muscle taunt.

"_James Bucky Barnes_! Bucky, _Bucky_, BUCKY!"

_Please, let him hear me... _  
Bucky became aware of screaming, two hands pinning his shoulders down, Steve's anxious face hovering just over his. The Captain was using nearly all his weight, holding Bucky down, speaking urgently, words falling over each other as he recognized his old friend was coming around. "Bucky, Bucky, it's me, you're okay now, you're awake. It was just a nightmare, it can't hurt you. Breathe Buck, I've got you, I've got you, you're okay, you're alright."

Bucky was shaking so hard he couldn't reply. His heart raced, breath heaved, and he'd sweated half an ocean, the physical effects of his nightmare following him into the waking world.

"Guys?" Sam's voice, outside the door, caused Bucky to flinch deeply. Steve took a deep breath. "It's fine now, Sam. Give us some space." From outside was the murmur of low voices and shuffling as Sam moved on whoever else was out there.

Slowly, Steve loosened his hold then removed one hand, the other radiating a comfortable weight now, instead of pinning him down. Bucky lifted both arms, almost expecting one to be missing - but no. One human arm, one mechanical. His gaze went next to Steve, who still hovered over him, too close - in his personal space, which he didn't allow any other person to remain in for longer than a second. Steve though... the rules for Steve, they were different.

"I hurt you." Bucky's voice was gravelly, as if it hadn't been used in months, and his breath was uneven as his heart still raced. It didn't take him long to put together Steve's black eye and the fact they were on the floor, instead of the bed. He'd done it again. He thought he'd been getting better, but this nightmare...

Steve fell back into a sitting position, relief etched onto his face. "It doesn't matter. I thought..." His voice faltered, and he blinked rapidly. "Though I'd lost you again."

Bucky wasn't sure who initiated it. It must have surely been him, because Steve wouldn't have risked it otherwise. But within the span of a second his arms went around Steve's shoulders, clinging like Steve was his lifeline.  
Steve made a tiny noise of surprise, but he hugged Bucky back, rubbing soothing circles over his shoulderblades, not even wincing when his friend's metal arm squeezed back too hard. Bucky might not have been able to say it, but Steve understood at that moment just how much his friend still needed him. He held Bucky, until he stopped shaking, until his breathing returned to normal and at last his heart-rate lowered.

"There, you okay now?" Steve pulled back to examine him. Despite the low light and Bucky's dark hair and stubble, Steve had never seen him this pale. "You wanna talk about it?" Bucky shook his head at once. Steve nodded, understanding, giving him the time to come to terms with things.

Bucky sat back a little, looking down broodingly at his hands, curling them into fists. "I'm such a mess." He muttered angrily, guiltily.

"You're not any more of a mess than me or anybody here. You'll get there, Bucky." Steve told him earnestly. When Bucky didn't respond, just kept staring at his hands, he jumped up. "Come on. You need to get out of here. Get up."

Bucky followed more because he knew Steve wouldn't let up on him than because he wanted to go anywhere, but once they were outside in the night air, he did feel better. There was a reassuring crispness to the cool air, a light mist clinging to the open areas over the road, inviting exploration.  
The sound of an engine roaring to life caught his attention and he turned his head and found Steve swinging his leg over a bike. Settling into the seat, Steve nodded at the back. "Get on."

Bucky hesitated. It seemed altogether too dangerous, climbing on the back of that bike. Keeping Steve at arms' length had become the norm... but things were different tonight. The rules were being slowly crumbled.

"Bucky." Steve wasn't wearing a helmet, so his expression was easy to see, even in the moonlight.  
Trust. Steve trusted him.

_I am so screwed_, Bucky thought, letting out a sigh. He approached the bike and cautiously slid on behind Steve, like he was mounting an unbroken mustang that might start rearing and bucking him off at any second. Steve gunned the engine and took off without giving him a moment's notice, and Bucky let out a muffled curse in Russian and wrapped his flesh arm around Steve's waist. The Captain purposely took a corner fast, and without thinking he grabbed Steve with his metal arm as well, scowling when he realized Steve had done that on purpose, proving he was tough enough to take it.  
_Jerk. _  
Out on a highway, occasionally weaving around the odd car out so late (early?) Bucky did start to relax. The rushing wind and the comforting growl of the motor were almost invigorating. He took note of his surroundings, feeling a little foolishly like a starstruck tourist in this city he had supposedly grown up in.

But also sort of okay with that.

Steve didn't seem to have any particular destination in mind. He just drove, letting the world rush by, letting Bucky relax into the pace of it. Bucky wondered, idly, if he knew any of these streets. Wondered if he'd ever really remember. Gaining back that single flash of his past had not eased his mind at all, because somehow it ought to have marked some huge milestone change in him, been followed by more memories, given him hope... and he had none of that.

But he _did_ have Steve. Steve, who'd been his crutch and punching bag as the situation demanded, who cared about him so transparently, it was difficult to maintain the distance between them. Every time he blinked or turned his head, Steve sidled just that little bit closer.

"If a bug hits me in the face and I snap your spine in two, you've got only yourself to blame." Bucky tried to make it into a threat, but he felt Steve shake with laughter.

He felt almost like he could smile, too. 

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**A/N| Big thanks to a friend for insight on this chapter - you know who you are :) The hug was Helca's request and I hope that although it was a short one, it had sufficient angst for you. **  
**As always, I love to hear what you guys think - I'd loose my muse for this world without being able to read all your awesome feedback! **


	6. Turning Tables

"Hawkeye, in position." Though the archer spoke in a whisper, Bucky winced and turned the volume down on his earpeice. There were enough voices in his head. Out in the field was not when he wanted them cropping up, arguing with one another.

He still wasn't sure he ought to be here.  
There were several beats, then Natasha's softer, more sultry voice chimed in. "Black Widow, born ready."  
Two more heartbeats. Bucky took a deep breath and touched his com link. "Winter Soldier, ready."

If there was anybody aside from Steve Bucky was happy to be on an op with, it was these two. Clint, because he was an all-round good guy, and he was damned good at his job... without being as overwhelming as certain other Avengers. Clint was just Clint - unruffled, easygoing, and wholeheartedly human.

Bucky was also glad of Natasha's presence, because if things went wrong - no matter how assured Steve was that they wouldn't - Black Widow would kick his ass and haul it back to base.  
"Let's do this." Clint was running this one. He and Nat had been the ones to spot Pietro Maximoff in New York and lay the trap for him - a meeting with a man who claimed to know the whereabouts of the sister he was rumoured to be looking for.

Bucky didn't much care, one way or the other. He wasn't nervous about taking down Quicksilver, since he was strictly the muscle in this instance, here in case the mutant put up a fight. He would step up only if Clint's plan didn't work - and where was the last time _Clint_ missed a shot? He was only nervous about being here in the first place, and yet... he hated to admit to himself that being back in the field felt right. Comforting, yet... still faintly nauseating.

"He's a show. I've got eyes on him." Natasha reported, and Bucky tensed, left fist clenching, doubts returning in a rush. He shouldn't have let Steve talk him into this. He wasn't ready for-

"Hawkeye, now!" Clint stood up from his hiding place (ironically, it was atop a monument of a pair of eagles) and fired. Bucky breathed a sight of relief when he heard Pietro swear, and he stepped onto the path to see he hadn't fled - couldn't, judging by the scowl on his face. It deepened when he saw who was responsible for his current state.

The silver-haired man yanked the arrow from his arm in slight slow-motion. "What... did... you... do?"

"We needed to talk. Without the special effects, this time." Bucky reached out a hand to grip Pietro's arm. He obviously tried to yank it away, but with his powers of speed taken away from him, he wasn't a match for Bucky. His slim shoulders slumped and he breathed a slow, angry sigh of defeat. "Okay okay, let me go." He growled sullenly. Bucky pressed it for a minute longer before complying. Pietro startled when Clint dropped off the top of the monument and fell in on his other side. "Told you it'd work. Steve'll be happy."

Bucky sighed as well. Steve would be happy. The mission had gone off without a hitch, despite his involvement. Granted, this had been a simple one. Almost too simple.

"Yeah." Bucky mumbled. "You and Nat take him back to base. Tell Steve I'll be home later." Clint didn't look all that surprised, just waved, and Bucky waited to peel off from the group until Natasha joined them, granting him a single nod before assessing Pietro.  
He watched until he saw the small jet taking off from the sports field they'd left it cloaked in. Then he extended both arms over his head, gripping his right wrist with his left to flex the flesh-and-muscle arm. Checking there was nobody near enough to pick up the altered motion, he then twisted the metal arm back down into place. He set out aimlessly across a stretch of dewy grass with his hands in his pockets, which had become routine even though he habitually wore black leather gloves to hide his metal hand from prying eyes.

He wondered if this would ever feel right.

He was better, there was no doubt about it. The nightmares came less frequently, and there was less violence now in their aftermath. Steve occasionally got through a whole night in his own room without needing to check on him. Bucky never found the words to admit he hated waking in the early hours and finding that Steve wasn't there with his quiet murmurs of reassurance.  
The team largely trusted him. He would have been pressed to find a reason not to call Clint and Jane friends, and even jaded Tony and wary Thor were civil, warming to him slowly.  
His memories troubled him. No more had returned since the day in the kitchen, and trying to force them still brought waves of dizzying pain that could cripple him. He hated that he still worried Steve. Worrying Steve fell into forbidden territory, alongside kicking puppies or talking in the theater, and Bucky had stopped fighting the fact that he cared when he hurt him. Steve held everyone together - the team, the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D., himself. He didn't need to baby Bucky too, and the Winter Soldier was now fighting to cope with a new, protective side that had snuck up on him stealthier than Black Widow on a mission.

Jane had given him cooking lessons throughout the weeks when he was too afraid to set foot outside Avengers tower for fear his temper or memories would snap and he'd hurt some innocent going about their day. So he tested out his growing skills on Steve, who seemed more than happy to eat whatever offered. Starting slow at first, with eggs and simple pasta dishes, working up to burgers and steaks, pizzas and baked goods, finally to fully fledged roast meals that brought Thor to declare 'As fine a meal as any to grace the tables of Asgard.' Cooking for the whole team like that was still terrifying, but he never minded when it was just him and Steve.  
He stopped now to purchase a hot dog from an early-morning vendor. Tony's challenge - "Do one thing every day you aren't comfortable with to ingrain yourself back into normal life." The hot dog was delicious, and he went back and brought a second one. Steve had brought Bucky the first hot dog he could remember from a cart just like this one.

Hydra cells and agents were everywhere and Steve, always putting himself on the front lines, frequently came home battered and bruised. He refused to let Jarvis tend to minor injuries like that, but when Bucky tentatively volunteered, Steve accepted. Feeling like a clumsy oaf, Bucky bathed and bandaged Steve's cuts and scrapes. He remembered when Steve had done this for him back when he was new to the mansion, and the memory inserted an unexpected silver of warmth into a heart he was no longer certain worked properly.

Bucky stopped in the middle of a quiet glen by a small lake, out of sight of the early-morning joggers, the odd horse-rider and the dog walkers beginning to appear on the paths. He drew his knees up, rested his chin on his metal arm, no longer flinching at the cold.

The night before, Steve had fallen asleep in his office, pouring over old files in an effort to pick out potential Hydra agents. Bucky had found him when he came to say goodnight, frowning when a shake of his shoulders brought only a twitch of his hand and a murmured protest. Before he could think, he picked up his friend easily in his one metal, one human arm and carried him to his room. Placing his head gently on a pillow and pulling a blanket over him had seemed natural. Bucky hesitated when he went to leave. There was an armchair just like the one in his own room, just like the one Steve had spent so many nights in, watching over him. Bucky settled down in that chair without a second thought - it had just felt right.

He'd woken up early to join Clint and Natasha for the mission briefing, and he hadn't seen Steve before he left, but he wasn't naive enough to think that Steve didn't know where he'd spent the night.

When he went home, he would have to see him, talk, explain, and he was putting it off.  
It wasn't all that much of a surprise when, after spending most of the day sitting in the same spot, he heard footsteps.

Steve approached him from behind, and Bucky felt him hesitate, then straighten up and close the distance between them. He patted his old friend's shoulder (metal) in gentle greeting, then sat down and leaned back slightly, so they braced each other, back-to-back.

"Quicksilver secure?" Bucky couldn't think of any other conversation starter. He wondered if the silence would have bothered him a few months ago.

"Right as rain, settled into Tony's guest wing. Bruce is having a word with him before Tony tries though, figured he'd be more diplomatic. Seems like Natasha's source was right, he's been looking for his sister."

"Long as he figures out which side he's on, now."

"He might not take long with that. You didn't." Steve pointed out, and Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat.

"That chair can't have been comfortable last night." Steve mentioned quietly. Bucky took a deep breath before answering. "You stayed in one a lot longer than one night."

"They aren't so bad."

Silence fell. Eventually Steve knelt then stood, holding out a hand to haul Bucky up. Very deliberately, it was his left one, so Bucky had to accept with the same side. They started walking, keeping stride together without effort.

"Can I ask you something?" Steve hedged, and Bucky scowled. "I hate it when people ask me that. Not only have they already asked something, inevitably the thing they want to ask is something I don't want to answer."

"That's why I asked."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Go on."

"Why'd you save me when I fell from the hellicarrier?"

Yeah, that was definitely a question Bucky didn't want to answer. He gritted his teeth, feeling pressure throb at his temples, wondering if caring always hurt this much.

"I wasn't where I was now. I jumped in for you because _you_ didn't leave me under that beam. I owed you, that's all."

Steve took the response placidly. "If that's what you need to think. I know better."

Damned Steve always thinking the fucking best of everybody. Bucky narrowed his eyes and fumed silently, unwilling to admit that he was mad mostly because he was afraid Steve was - _as usual_ - right.

He became aware they were passing through the gates of one of the exits and blinked. "-Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. Get on." Bucky stayed where he was for a long minute while Steve waited patiently on his bike. Finally he threw up his hands in exasperation and climbed on behind him. "You _know_ I hate surprises." He growled, clamping his metal arm around Steve a little harder than necessary as he took off. Steve just laughed. "Yeah, I know."  
Bucky was a little surprised when they pulled up at a small building (for New York) with a distinctly antiseptic smell that made him wrinkle his nose. "And you know I hate hospitals, too." He grumbled, and Steve - sombre now, stress lines Bucky didn't remember running shallow furrows across his forehead - nodded. "Me too." He agreed, a strange subdued version of Steve. Unbidden, Bucky felt the protective surge flare up within him. Dammit - he couldn't let Steve go in there alone.

"It's a good time to visit." A plump, smiling nurse behind the receptionist desk assured the two men, showing them to a private room. "She's had a positive week. Her memory has been really good."

Bucky wasn't expecting the person Steve was visiting to sit up in surprise in her bed, her movements slowed, her wrinkled face sparking another uncomfortable non-memory in him - the feeling that he _should_ know who she was. She certainly recognized him.  
"_Bucky Barnes_?" She was so tiny and pale against the big hospital bed with all the beeping equipment Bucky had to fight not to smash into rubble, that he found himself moving with great care towards her.  
"Yeah." It came out as barely more than a whisper, stopping at a safe distance. He wanted, at that moment, to remember this woman his appearance obviously meant something so great to. It was a struggle to admit to her, "I... I don't remember you. I'm sorry." He felt equal parts terrified and uncomfortable.  
Peggy Carter blinked the tears back from her eyes. Steve had been hanging back, but she turned her head towards him, reached out one frail hand, and he couldn't not go to her. Peggy looked at the two of them standing side by side, and one tear escaped. "I don't know if I'm dreaming. But if I'm not, then I've been blessed, seeing both of you, together."

Steve looked stricken. Bucky had a fleeting thought that whatever plans he had for this meeting, this hadn't been it. "Peggy, I wouldn't have come if I'd known we'd upset-"

Peggy lifted her free hand to stop him, and in the motion was a shadow of a woman who had fought her way through the army ranks in a time when they belonged to men. "Steve, I may be old, but there's no need to treat me like cracked china." She scolded gently. "This is... you have no idea the gift you've given me. How I worry about you, the trouble you get yourself into, and what a load off my mind it is that you've got Bucky at your side again." Her still-shrewd gaze landed on the Winter Soldier and she transferred her grip from Steve's wrist to his, not even flinching when she encountered what was obviously not human flesh. "And that he has you. Bucky Barnes, whatever you've been through that weighs on you so heavily, you'll get through it. You were not a Howling Commando for nothing."  
Bucky was paralyzed in her frail grip, which was somehow more powerful than his own. He felt the need to tiptoe, take more care in this than in anything he'd ever done. "I don't remember anything. Not you, the Commandos, or being Steve's best friend." He confessed, voice hushed. Peggy just smiled a sad, knowing smile. "He'll help you. One constant, I've always had... is that Steve never gives up."  
Steve shook his head and waved off the compliment under the comforting words. "How've you been feeling, Peg?"

"Oh, fine and dandy, Steve. Better still if somebody would tell me what was going on with S.H.I.E.L.D."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick look. Steve shook his head, just a tiny incline of his chin one way, to tell Bucky no. "Well, Peggy, that's a long story..."

"Where do you imagine I have to go, with this pressing social calendar nobody's told me about?" Peggy relied tartly, and Steve for a moment saw through the years, saw the woman he'd know all those years ago.  
"That's kinda why I'm here." It was Bucky who carried on while Steve hesitated, and he crouched down by Peggy's bedside so he could look her in the eye. "S.H.I.E.L.D... were infiltrated by Hydra, all the way through their ranks. I was part of them, until Steve kinda... pushed me back into the world." He looked over at his oldest friend, and wondered who _he'd_ had to push him back into living, the way Steve had for him.

Peggy blinked slowly, listening carefully, nodded once or twice then without warning, closed her eyes and began to cough painfully. Bucky leaped back from her bed, eyes wide in alarm - still in control of himself, just fearful something he had said or done had been the trigger. Steve clutched at Peggy's hand, brought her a glass of water, but she waved him weakly away. "Oh Steve, I'm sorry." She whispered, voice raspy from her coughing fit.

"Don't ever be sorry. For anything." Bucky knew many of Steve's tells and facial expressions now, he could see how hard this was on him. Peggy's eyes started to close, and Steve gently placed her hand back on the bed and signaled Bucky to leave. Before they could, Peggy's eyes opened to half-mast and she smiled faintly. "Steve... nobody used the acronym back then, but... when I named it, S.H.I.E.L.D... I was thinking of you. Long after you'd gone."

Steve froze, his blue eyes wide. Peggy sighed softly, and drifted peacefully off to sleep. Steve stayed where he was until Bucky gently took his arm and led him out of the room.


End file.
